This web-log, begun in 2011 for the purpose of clarifying the true nature of the work and views of Dr. William Pierce, and to counter misrepresentations thereof, is not affiliated with any organization.

Friday, March 30, 2012

AS THE DUSK GATHERED in the early evening of March 5, 1836, William Travis mustered the 183 men under his command on the dusty plaza of the Alamo, a fortress-like former Spanish mission. As the assembled Texans listened intently, the lanky officer outlined the situation. He made explicit what everyone already knew: there was little hope of surviving the onslaught of the 4,000-strong Mexican army which surrounded the fortress. They could hope for no further relief.

Then he did something strange. As the men watched curiously, Travis drew his sword and traced a line in the dust along the front of the first rank. Now he offered the men a choice. If there was anyone among them who had been deceived as to the gravity of their circumstances – if there was anyone who wanted to make a break for it – they might leave without infringing their honor. But let those who would stand and die with Travis cross the line.

Micajah Autry, an itinerant scholar and poet from Tennessee, was first across the line. Davey Crockett, the legendary rifleman, quickly followed, and then James Bonham, the dashing horseman from South Carolina. As his wife Susannah watched from the shadows of the old mission’s wall, Almeron Dickinson, a blacksmith from Gonzalez turned artilleryman, crossed the line. The rest followed in a rush, whooping defiance of Mexican General Santa Anna and his horde.

Davy Crockett's Last Stand at the Alamo -
This detail of that painting was the cover
for National Vanguard magazine #103,
Jan-Feb, 1985

Only two men remained behind the line. One of them, Jim Bowie, the storied knife-fighter, lay on a cot, desperately ill. He begged to be carried across, and two of his comrades quickly hefted him over the line.

Now only Moses (Louis) Rose, a Jewish mercenary from France, hung back. Bowie, who had earlier befriended Rose, called out weakly, “You seem not to be willing to die with us, Rose!”

Rose answered curtly, “No, I am not prepared to die, and I shall not do so if I can avoid it.” With that, he vaulted over the wall, stealthily made his way past the Mexican pickets, and vanished into the night. Some years later, he died uneventfully.

The next day the men of the Alamo won immortality.

Travis’s drawing of the line was only the most dramatic episode in the Alamo saga. At one time the details of the siege and fall of the Texas stronghold were well known to every White American. Even today the facade of the Alamo chapel (all that remains of the old mission) is a familiar picture. Movies and television shows, dating from an era in which the masters of Hollywood found a feigned patriotism expedient as well as profitable, have acquainted many with the externals of the story. The most significant aspects of the Texans’ gallant last stand, however, have been for a long time carefully veiled. They deserve to become once again the common possession of our people, and the bravery of the men of the Alamo deserves commemoration as long as our race endures.

The Texas Revolution, of which the battle of the Alamo was the most stirring event, was the inevitable result of the confrontation of two vastly different peoples. The immigrants from the United States whom Mexico had reluctantly allowed to settle Texas, which was then a part of Mexico, were overwhelmingly of northern European stock. The Texas historian T. R. Fehrenbach has described them as a “tall, very Caucasoid race, more raw-boned than wiry. They filled the ridges and valleys with fair-skinned people and blue-eyed children.”

Most of them had come from the southern and border states. There the settlers’ race-feeling, already strong, had been honed to a sharp edge in the murderous and incessant Indian wars and by their association with Black slaves, either as owners or as competitors in the labor market. These White men and women of Texas felt themselves to be the vanguard of their race, and they meant to wring their destiny, manifest or otherwise, from the plains and mountains which stretched across the remainder of the continent.

The Mexicans, who were mostly of Indian or mixed (mestizo) blood, regarded these “Anglo-Saxon barbarians” with increasing fear and resentment. The government had only allowed Texas to be settled from the United States after it had become clear that the native Mexicans from the south could not be induced to move to the sparsely settled northern province. As American farmers and ranchers poured into Texas after 1822, they quickly came to outnumber the small Mexican population. By 1830 the Mexican government had forbidden any further immigration from the growing giant to the north.

When Santa Anna converted his presidency into a dictatorship and abolished the constitution, which had provided for a federated rather than a centralized Mexican state, the Texans rose up. They quickly overwhelmed the smaller Mexican garrisons throughout the state and then seized the capital, San Antonio de Bexar, by storm, overpowering a large force commanded by Santa Anna’s brother-in-law, General Cos, in December 1835.

Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna was Mexico’s leading general as well as her most adroit politician. He had emerged as a national hero after repelling a Spanish attempt to reconquer Mexico at Vera Cruz in 1829. Monumentally vain and extravagant, the self-styled “Napoleon of the West” was nevertheless a dynamic organizer as well as a charismatic leader. He quickly assembled and drilled an army of 6,000 Mexican regulars, trained and led in accordance with the latest continental European principles. With this elite force he marched north from Saltillo, Mexico, at the end of January 1836, determined to crush the upstart American rebels and then settle the problem once and for all by a program of summary executions and mass deportations.

The reports which Santa Anna’s numerous sympathizers among San Antonio’s Mexican population brought him concerning the state of the city’s White garrison must have heightened the contempt the Mexican general felt for the abilities of the American fighting men. The force which had seized San Antonio the previous December had dwindled to fewer than a hundred men in January. Only a few dozen reinforcements augmented the detachment as the Mexicans made their way north. There was bad blood between the two top ranking Texans, with both Jim Bowie and William Barret Travis attempting to exercise command.

The Texans holding San Antonio had their strengths as well as their weaknesses, as Santa Anna and his men were to discover. The fighting spirit of those who remained was high. Most of them were volunteers from outside Texas whose elan, if anything, surpassed that of their Texas brethren.

At the defense, the American frontiersmen were among the most effective soldiers in the world. They fired their long Kentucky rifles with deadly accuracy at ranges up to 200 yards. At close quarters they were devastating with knife and tomahawk. A tendency toward indiscipline was counterbalanced by a self-reliance and a self-sufficiency not to be found among the Mexicans.

Nevertheless, Santa Anna nearly caught the Texans napping as he advanced to San Antonio on February 23. Travis, the nominal commander by virtue of his status as the senior regular officer, hadn’t thought the Mexicans capable of crossing the several hundred miles of arid plains between Saltillo and San Antonio so rapidly. Santa Anna, however, had driven his troops mercilessly, and as his advance guard swept into the city the Texans barely had time to retire to the shelter of the Alamo.

The Alamo had been built as a mission to the Indians by the Franciscan order in 1718, but it had been abandoned in 1793. Although it derived its name from a company of soldiers from the Mexican town of Alamo de Parras who had subsequently been stationed there, it was not well suited for defense, especially by so small a force as Travis commanded.

The compound consisted of a large, rectangular plaza, adjoined on the east by a smaller plaza and the old mission chapel. The larger plaza was enclosed by a thick wall twelve feet high. Inside and adjacent to the wall were the former mission workshops and living quarters, which served the garrison as barracks, storerooms, and offices. The chapel, at the southeast corner of the mission, was filled with rubble; its roof had fallen in years before.

Green Jameson, a lawyer from Kentucky who was the Texans’ chief engineer, had worked hard to strengthen the Alamo’s weak spots. A breach in the north wall had been plugged by stones and timber. On the southeast, where there was a dangerous gap between the wall and the chapel, a palisade of logs surrounded a hastily constructed earthwork.

Now the Texans intensified their efforts. A well was dug to supplement the water from a stream flowing close outside the walls. Gun emplacements were readied in the ruins of the chapel. Davey Crockett and his handful of fellow Tennesseans, who had arrived in San Antonio only two weeks before, were assigned the critical palisade on the southeast.

As the men hauled the Alamo’s fourteen guns into position on the walls, they caught sight of Santa Anna’s flag fluttering from the bell tower of the San Fernando Cathedral on the outskirts of the city, a few hundred yards away. It was blood red, and it signified no quarter.

A short while later, the lookouts spotted another flag. This one was white. Evidently Santa Anna wanted to talk. Travis, who knew of Santa Anna’s proclaimed intent to “exterminate every White man within its (Texas’s) limits,” ordered his gunners to reply with a blast of cannon fire.

That night Jim Bowie collapsed. Bowie, whose reputation as an intrepid Indian fighter and the master of the knife which bore his name was known across the frontier, had been regarded by the volunteers from outside Texas as the garrison’s rightful commander. He had not discouraged this opinion, for he had been a leader all his life and he regarded the younger Travis as inexperienced. The friction between the two, and Bowie’s greater popularity among the men, had almost led Travis to resign.

Now, with Bowie desperately ill, command rested solely in Travis’s hands. At 28, he had already established himself as a champion of White Texans’ rights. Many of his more complacent fellow Texans had regarded him as an irresponsible firebrand until events upheld his audacity. In 1832 he had been imprisoned in the coastal town of Anahuac for challenging the authority of Colonel John Bradburn, and autocratic American in the Mexican service who was widely regarded as a race traitor by White Texans. Then in 1835 Travis returned to Anahuac with a group of comrades and seized the town, helping to spark the current secession. At the Alamo he would capitalize on his opportunity for greatness.

During the night of February 23 the Mexicans closed the ring around the Alamo, carefully staying nout of range of the defenders’ rifles after the Texas marksmen had claimed several of the less cautious. On the next day, in a dispatch which still stands as a classic expression of American heroism, Travis appealed to “the people of Texas and all Americans in the world” for aid. Recognizing the possibility of insufficient reinforcement, he ended his message, which was smuggled through the Mexican lines that night by a volunteer: “I shall never surrender or retreat. Then I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism & everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid, with all dispatch . . . If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible & die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor & that of his country – Victory or Death.”

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I shall never surrender or retreat...Victory or Death! - Col. William Travis

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The first week of the siege was comparatively uneventful. The Mexicans lobbed cannon balls into the Alamo periodically without inflicting any casualties. The Texans, low on powder and shot, husbanded their ammunition. There was no reply to Travis’s appeal for help.

Then in the early morning darkness of March 1, 32 horsemen burst through the Mexican lines and galloped through the hastily opened gates of the Alamo. The Mexican sentries, caught off guard, didn’t fire a shot. The riders were Texans from Gonzalez, 70 miles east of San Antonio, led by George Kimball, a hatter. Almost all of them had families and were fully aware of the overwhelming odds facing the Alamo, but they rallied all the more enthusiastically to the relief of their countrymen. They were the only reinforcements, save one, the Alamo would receive.

One more American braved the Mexican lines to reach the Alamo. He was James Butler Bonham, a chivalrous young lawyer from a wealthy family in South Carolina and a distant cousin of Travis.

Bonham had been dispatched by Travis on February 27 to persuade the sizeable force at Goliad to march to the aid of the Alamo. The commander at Goliad was Colonel James Fannin, an indecisive and unstable officer. When it became clear to Bonham that Fannin intended to stay in Goliad, he prepared to return to the Alamo.

When Fannin implored him not to throw his life away, Bonham spat in the dust and snarled that Travis deserved to know the answer to his appeals. After stopping at Gonzalez and learning of the departure of the local men, he rode westward to glory, passing through the Mexican lines unscathed on March 3.

The drama was drawing to its conclusion. As Travis drew the line March 5, Santa Anna, buoyed by reinforcements from the south, was planning his assault on the Texans’ fortress. Shortly before daybreak the next morning, March 6, 1836, the Texans awakened to the alarms of their sentries and the rhythmic tramp of thousands of marching feet. Four columns were heading for the Alamo: two groups marching toward the north wall of the plaza, a third striking from the east, the fourth detachment moving from the south against Davey Crockett’s palisade. Over the cheers of the attacking Mexicans, the Texans could heard the regimental band blaring out the menacing strains of the “Deguello,” a march from Spain’s Moorish past, the name derived from a word for throat-cutting.

Even in the dim light of the pre-dawn the Texans could make out the gaudy braid and silver the Mexican officers sported on their uniforms. Once again the Kentucky rifle proved its mettle, as the defenders poured a devastating fire into the ranks of the advancing Mexicans. Officers and men fell by the scores, then the hundreds. Twice the Mexicans reeled back, until, reinforced by Santa Anna’s reserve, and at a terrible cost, the two northern columns reached the base of the Alamo wall. Now, deprived of the advantage the much greater range of their rifles had given them and hampered by the absence of ramparts on the thick walls, the Texans began to fall. The Mexicans scrambled up their scaling ladders, not without heavy losses, and poured over the wall.

Travis fell at the north wall, shot through the head. As the Mexicans surged into the plaza, the Texans engaged them hand-to-hand. Towering over the diminutive mestizos, they wielded tomahawks, knives, and fists to murderous effect. A gun crew on the west wall swung their piece around and riddled the Mexicans in the plaza with grapeshot before they, too, were overwhelmed.

As more and more Mexicans swarmed over the walls, the outnumbered Texans fell back into the barracks and storerooms. Only at the expense of numerous casualties were the Mexicans able to kill or dislodge the defenders.

When the Mexicans burst into one small room, they found a defiant Jim Bowie, too weak to rise from his cot, but brandishing a revolver. He shot several of his assailants before he succumbed.

Behind the palisade and in the chapel, Crockett’s and Bonham’s men still held out. The Mexicans overran them after a brief but bitter struggle. Crockett and his Tennessee volunteers lay surrounded by heaps of dead Mexicans.

Major Robert Evans was shot down, torch in hand, as he crawled to blow up the Alamo’s powder magazine. Bonham and Dickinson fell by their guns in the chapel.

For fifteen minutes after the last Texan had been killed the Mexican troops, stunned by the ferocity of the resistance, continued to bayonet and shoot the dead defenders.

Santa Anna hastened to restore order. He allowed Almeron Dickinson’s wife and infant daughter, the only White women of the Alamo, to ride west to Gonzalez, presumably to spread terror with their story. The Mexican tyrant also ceremoniously liberated Travis’s Black slave, Joe, who had been found cowering in a storeroom.

The more than 1,500 Mexican casualties were attended to. The dead were buried under the supervision of San Antonio’s Mexican mayor, Francisco Ruiz, while the wounded were ministered to by the city’s Mexican population. But the Texan dead Santa Anna sought to dishonor by denying them burial. He ordered the bodies of every one of the Alamo’s 183 defenders burned.

And so the great funeral pyre was enveloped in flames, and the fire consumed the men of the Alamo – just as countless times a thousand years before, it had consumed the fallen heroes of whom their ancestors had sung in the longhouses and the great halls of northern Europe. Like all the champions of their race, the Texans treasured honor and courage above life itself. The echoes of their heroism reverberated at San Jacinto six weeks later, when Sam Houston’s men avenged them on Santa Anna, and for a century afterward their memory gave Americans the strength to face hopeless odds resolutely.

Now, as the alien subverters stealthily work their will behind the scenes, few White Americans hearken to the lessons of the Alamo. Throughout the whole American Southwest, the mestizo descendants of Santa Anna’s horde bid to win back what he lost, as the brown flood streams unchecked across our borders.

It is time to renew the pact between the living and the dead: that they shall live on in the memory of their race, and that we, remembering, shall have their example always before us, exhorting us to carry out unflinchingly whatever the future of our race requires.

---

See also:http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6421121071497824942#editor/target=post;postID=4830167430843938899

Thursday, March 29, 2012

When
we began publishing more than 11 years ago, mobs of as many as a
quarter-million demonstrators were marching through the streets of
Washington
chanting, “Ho-Ho-Ho Chi Minh, the Viet Cong’s gonna win!” The
Washington Post, the New York Times, and the three television networks
were openly sympathetic to the communist enemy in Vietnam. ROTC
facilities had been burned to the ground on a dozen of the nation’s
university campuses, and terrorist bombs were going off at a rate of
more than one a day in banks, corporate offices, and government
buildings.

During
one of the larger pro-Viet Cong demonstrations, in which the leaders
had promised to “shut down the government,” a mob gathered across the
street from our Washington office, and while a greasy, Levantine
creature with a megaphone tried to incite his Gentile subordinates into
attacking the building, roving groups were overturning parked cars along
the
street.

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A greasy, Levantine creature with a megaphone tried to incite his Gentile subordinates into attacking [our Washington office] building...

************************

It
may be understandable that, under such circumstances, we thought that
the country was ripe for revolution -- that the time had finally come
when the long-suffering White majority might be encouraged to rise up;
to storm the lairs of the media masters with fire and iron; to drag the
politicians out of their offices and the New York-accented lawyers out
of the “Justice” Department and administer summary justice to all of
them on the sidewalk; to surround New York City with an impenetrable
ring of a million armed vigilantes and burn the whole place to the
ground. All that had to be done, we imagined, was to identify the enemy,
to explain what was happening and where the country was headed, to
point out the danger of inaction -- and then the people would take care
of the
rest.

So
that’s what we did. We put our message on newsprint, under flaming, red
headlines. We called it ATTACK! We hawked it on street corners, we
talked about it in deliberately provocative TV and newspaper interviews,
and we mailed out literally millions of copies of it.

And,
of course, we were very naïve. It took us a while to realize that we
were not getting through with our message to “the people,” but only to a
very tiny minority among them. It took us even longer to understand
why: to understand just how far the process of degeneration had already
gone, and how much preparatory work would have to be done before there
could be a revolution
-- more precisely, before there could be a renewal, a rebirth of our
people.

Nevertheless,
the number of people responding to our message grew, albeit with
maddening slowness at times. And we evolved. We dispensed with the red
headlines. We changed our name from ATTACK! to NATIONAL VANGUARD. We
began concerning ourselves less with the symptoms of what was happening
to our world and our people, and more with the fundamental causes. And
we found that more and more of the right sort of people were responding:
people who still had healthy instincts and who were able to understand
everything we were saying.

Now
we have made another change. It’s a change in
style rather than substance, but we believe that it will be an
important change in the long run. We believe that the new image of
NATIONAL VANGUARD more accurately corresponds to its essence than did
the old image, and that it will help us find even more of the right sort
of people.

We
will, of course, continue to adhere absolutely to our guiding
principle, which is that NATIONAL VANGUARD will tell the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth; that it will deal in depth with
every issue relevant to our task; and that it will never allow a fear of
offending any segment of the public to keep it from saying whatever
needs to be said. But from now on we will be more conscious of the fact
that, just as a man is often judged by the clothes he wears, the
acceptability of truth may depend on the
package in which it is presented.

One
caution: the somewhat slicker format of the new NATIONAL VANGUARD
should mislead no reader into assuming that we feel a more relaxed
outlook toward the problems confronting us as a people is now
appropriate. Perhaps an advantage of the tabloid format in this regard
was its very roughness and the sense of currency and urgency that went
along with it. The urgency may not be expressed in headlines quite as
large as before, but it is even more strongly felt by the staff here,
and that will be seen both in the substance of our writing and in the
greater frequency with which the new NATIONAL VANGUARD will be
published.

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NATIONAL VANGUARD will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; it will deal in depth with every issue relevant to our task; and it will never allow a fear of offending any segment of the public to keep it from saying whatever needs to be said.

************************

The
most important reason for the changes in NATIONAL VANGUARD is that we
want it to be a more effective tool for reaching and moving people of
the right sort, who understand that knowledge always carries with it a
responsibility for action.

We
have been able to build our circulation to its present level only
because our readers have participated actively in the task, telling
friends, neighbors, and colleagues about NATIONAL VANGUARD. That has
required courage, because the promotion of heresy has always been a
hazardous enterprise. And it has required persistence, because many
people do not want to hear truths which impose troubling, new
responsibilities on them.

Putting
our truths into a more presentable package does not eliminate the need
for courage and persistence, but it should yield a greater reward for
those virtues, a greater willingness to consider the truths on their own
merits.

Hopefully,
it will also move some to do more than consider and accept. By
providing a somewhat more inviting medium, the new NATIONAL VANGUARD
should induce more of those who are able to participate in the
formulation of the ideas in it to do so.

Finally,
the effectiveness of any tool depends upon the user. We hope that we
have provided all our readers with a tool they will be more willing to
use. But
it is a tool in your hands now. Please use it.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

On October
24 and 25 I attended an international conference of nationalists in
Thessaloniki, Greece. Also attending the
conference were representatives of groups in Greece, Portugal, Romania,
Flanders, Denmark, Netherlands, Germany, South Africa, and Austria. It was hoped that representatives of Russian
groups also would be present, but none was able to attend. The Alliance was the only group in the United
States represented. The conference was
hosted by the Greek nationalist group Golden Dawn.

In a formal session on October 24 I spoke
to approximately 200 representatives of other groups about the work of the
Alliance and listened to many reports about the work of other organizations. On the following day I had informal conversations
with a number of individuals. On October
26, I visited German and French nationalists in Augsburg, Germany, who had been
unable to attend the conference.

Altogether this conference and the
attendant traveling kept me away from the National Office for six days, but I
believe that it was time well spent.
Cooperation across national borders will become increasingly important
for progress – and perhaps even for survival – in the future. But to be able to have meaningful cooperation
in the future, we need to establish bonds of trust and understanding now. At least some headway was made in that
direction at the Thessaloniki meeting, as I established several new contacts
and further developed contacts I had made earlier this year at the NPD meeting
in Passau, Germany.

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Cooperation across national borders will become increasingly important for progress – and perhaps even for survival – in the future.

************************

Each time I visit a group in another
country I learn new things and gain new insights into our struggle. In Greece, for example, there is a much
stronger sense of ethnic consciousness in the general public than exists in the
United States. This is especially true
in northern Greece, in what used to be Macedonia, where Thessaloniki is
located. Nationalism in this area
reaches a Balkan intensity, and memory of the struggle for freedom from Turkish
rule is still very strong.

A
group of about 50 of us took a guided tour of a historical museum, the Museum
of the Macedonian Struggle, and were lectured by both a museum guide and our
host about the historical exhibits. Both
were able to speak without inhibition about Macedonia’s liberation struggle and
about the strong dislike Greeks have for Turks, with none of the disgusting
Political Correctness which any museum guide in the United States would be
bound by.

Despite the stronger sense of ethnic
consciousness, Greece is more genetically mixed than the countries of northern
Europe. The people I saw in Thessalonki
ranged from tall, light-eyed blondes to people who were so dark I wasn’t sure
whether they were Greeks or Gypsies – until I saw some real Gypsies and could
note the distinct differences. Five
hundred years of Turkish rule has taken a racial toll.

Much of the ethnic consciousness in Greece
is based on culture: language, traditions, etc.
Nevertheless, Golden Dawn is an organization with a clear, genetically based
racial policy.

Speaking of genes, I saw a substantially
higher percentage of very attractive women in Thessaloniki than I have seen in
any part of the United States. While
obesity seems almost to be the rule rather than the exception for women in the
United States, I didn’t see a single obese woman in Thessaloniki. Most had long, slender, shapely legs, which
they were proud to display: quite a contrast with the disgusting scenes one
sees in every supermarket in America. I
could almost believe that the ancient Greek practice of having young women as
well as young men compete naked in athletic contests and thus develop a pride
in possessing healthy and well-formed bodies is still effective today. I saw not a single Black or Asian in the
city, although I was told that a few were there.

And speaking of language, that turned out
to be much less a barrier than I had feared.
Although simultaneous translation into Greek was provided when I
delivered my talk to the conference, I found that I had little or no trouble in
speaking with the other representatives.
Most of the Greeks could speak English moderately well – although I had
a little trouble with vendors and hotel clerks.
I have hated to see the intrusion of American trash-culture into Europe,
but the ease of communicating in English nearly everywhere certainly will make
the development of international contacts easier.

Greece, despite its very rich and deep
cultural roots, is in some ways a backward country: certainly where the utilization of modern
technology is concerned. Whereas in
America we take word processors, scanners, and laser printers for granted, they
are by no means as common in Greece.
Likewise, Internet access is far less common in Greece, even among urban
professionals.

In other ways, however, Greece is far
ahead of most other countries in Europe:
in the lack of Jewish influence and the consequent greater degree of
freedom the people have, for example.
Whereas in Germany citizens are imprisoned for even the slightest
transgression against Political Correctness, in Greece people are still free to
say nearly anything they want. This
makes Greece a convenient venue for international conferences of the sort I
attended in Thessalonika. The Jews and
their collaborators are working to change this, of course, just as they are in
the United States.

One thing I discovered which the Jews have
done for the Alliance in places like Greece is gives us name recognition. Every nationalist
in Europe has heard about The Turner Diaries,
for example. And being promoted by B’nai
B’rith as the most dangerous organization in America also has helped.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

A huge volume
of e-mail flows into the National Office from people all over the world who are
responding to our message, primarily our weekly radio broadcasts. Evelyn Hill weeds out the illiterate, incoherent,
and irrelevant mail and gives me a selection of 20 or so letters to read each
day. Between a fourth and a third of
these are hate letters, and I always read them carefully. For one thing they are a barometer of how
worried about us the enemies of our people are:
from the volume and vehemence of the hate mail following each broadcast
I can estimate how badly I have rattled our enemies’ cages. Of course, rattling the cages is not my aim,
but it is interesting to note what upsets the inmates and what doesn’t. Even more interesting are the clues the hate
letters provide to the psychology of the haters – and I am interested here only
in the psychology of the White haters: the
psychology our internal enemies,
not the psychology of the Jews or Blacks or other external
enemies.

What I
really
would like is for a very bright member to write a doctoral thesis in
psychology
on this subject and develop detailed psychological profiles of the
haters. Until such a member comes forward, I must
make my own amateur analyses. One thing
I already am inclined to believe is that there is no single profile
which fits
all the haters, although I believe that the majority of them do fit a
certain pattern. I already have mentioned in earlier issues of
the BULLETIN that the two characteristics which show up most often in
hate
letters are Christianity and authoritarianism.
Most of the Christian haters seem to be under the impression that the
Alliance is a Christian organization which is not
acting in accord with their idea of Christianity, and so they try to explain to
us what it is we’re doing which is un-Christian and then tell us that we’ll
roast in hell if we don’t change our ways.

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Christian haters and the authoritarian haters have
similar thought patterns but simply express themselves differently

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Actually,
there’s quite a bit of variety among the Christian hate letters. One which arrived this month might be put
into the sub-category of Jew-worship: “I
am convinced that Jews are indeed superior to Christians and we should honor
them for their great contributions to civilization. After all, don’t we Christians pray to the
greatest Jew that ever lived? Get real,
guys. Without Jews we’d all be a bunch
of trailertrash (well, you already are trailer trash).”

On the other
hand, the underlying message of the authoritarian haters seems to be, “You’re
out of step with everyone else, damn you!
Why can’t you be like everyone else and stop rocking the boat?” Possibly a more sophisticated observer than I
would conclude that the Christian haters and the authoritarian haters have
similar thought patterns but simply express themselves differently – which
would suggest that a fundamental trait of most White haters is
authoritarianism; some authoritarian haters are Christians, and some are not.

One of the more
interesting hate letters which arrived this month came from a man using the
pseudonym “Thomas Aquinas,”, which would suggest a Christian hater, but his
letter is not explicitly Christian – although he does describe himself as a
“God-fearing, White, Anglo-Saxon Protestant.”
It’s an exceptionally long letter, and so I’ll quote only a few passages
from it here. What he tells us is that there always have been despicable
oddballs like us in every society who complained about the way society was
changing. He even cites examples from
ancient Assyria and ancient Greece. And
he’s undoubtedly correct that there always have been people who were unhappy
with the way their societies were changing.

What’s
interesting about his letter is his expression of hatred for such people. After laying out his theory of history and
trying to prove that we’re standing in the way of change, he writes: “I’ve
plainly tried to lay it out for you here today.
And I really hope I cause you some pain with that, because I really hate
y’all, more than I hate much else in this life.
Because it is people like you who give real decent, real hard-working, real
open-minded people a more difficult time in their lives… having to explain… why
we should ever tolerate you types…” That’s
mixed in with a lot of insulting language to the effect that we’re lazy,
degenerate, drooling, closed-minded, pathetic morons (he uses all of those
words), “spreading your poisonous thoughts that appeal to the weaker minds in our
country.”

The writer goes
on to say, “We have you outnumbered… history is on our side.” He’s not really explicit about what his side
is for or who’s on it, but many of the things he says suggest that what makes
his side the winning side is that it’s the side of the majority, the side of
the people who’re happy with the way things are going, the side that Bill Clinton
and the producers and scriptwriters at MTV are on. If one can extract an underlying philosophy
from his letter, it seems to be this: “Whatever
way things are moving is the right way, because God wanted things to go that
way, and any opposition to that way is evil.”

In reading his
letter one gets the feeling that before deciding which side to cheer for he
holds up a moistened forefinger up to the breeze of public opinion to find out
what the current trend is, then cheers for the side moving in that direction –
but with real conviction that he’s on the right
side and with real hatred for those on the other side. In this letter there’s not the explicit
appeal to authority that one sees in many letters from authoritarians, but I
have classified it as authoritarian anyway.

The reason I’m
interested in the psychology of these people who write us hate letters is that
I believe that they’re only the tip of the iceberg. For every hater who writes to us there are
thousands who don’t. And I suspect that
most of them are governed by the same psychological laws. If we can understand those laws we can
understand what makes much of the opposition tick. Understanding how the opposition thinks doesn’t
mean that we can win them over to our side, of course. We may not even want to try very hard to
avoid offending them. But we have no hope
of influencing them until we do understand them. If authoritarianism is indeed the underlying
trait of most of the “normal” White people who oppose us, we need to understand
in detail exactly what authoritarianism is, its etiology, what other traits it
is correlated with, and so
on. I suspect that the media Jews who
design television propaganda already know these things.

It would be
useful even to have a better understanding of the psychology of hate. I always have assumed that hate is a natural
defense mechanism: people hate the
things or people they feel threatened by.
If that is so, exactly why do some of our fellow White people feel threatened
by us? Specifically, what is it in the authoritarian
individual’s personality that makes him feel threatened by us?

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[W]hat is it in the authoritarian
individual’s personality that makes him feel threatened by us?

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As I mentioned
above, despite the authoritarian flavor of most hate
letters, I am sure that not every hater is a compulsive authoritarian. I am sure that there are some more or less
“normal” White people who hate us for entirely rational reasons. For example, there are White businessmen who
are profiting from the flood of Third World immigrants pouring into America,
and they resent anyone who opposes the flood and threatens their profits. Such rational haters aren’t likely to send us
hate letters, but they still can be moved if we understand which psychological
buttons on them to push.

I appeal here
to those of our members with more understanding of psychology than I have to share
their insights with me. I am sure that smart
people somewhere have addressed themselves seriously to these questions and
have written books or research papers dealing with them, because understanding
how different types of people think is the key to influencing them: to designing effective advertising, for
example, and there’s enough money to be had from that to pay for much research. Careful experiments must have been done to
establish an empirical basis for a descriptive psychology, at least; there must
be a number of detailed psychological profiles out there which it would behoove
us to study. If you know about such
things, please share your knowledge with me.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not money, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not money, I am nothing….And now abideth faith, hope, money, these three; but the greatest of these is money.

-- I Corinthians 13 (as adapted by George Orwell)

It should have surprised no student of modern America that Jerry Rubin, the radical firebrand of the ‘60’s who once urged college kids to kill their parents, became a Wall Street stockbroker a while back. Nor that Rubin’s buddy Abbie Hoffman shortly thereafter emerged from the “underground” brandishing a number of self-enrichment plans.

Money lust is the potent yeast in the otherwise unleavened dough which is 20th-century American society. It is the underlying, ever-recurring melody in a bizarre symphony of chaos and discord. Rich and poor; Republican, Democrat, and Independent; conservative, liberal, and Marxist; atheist and Christian; Rotarian and sophisticated liberati: the love of lucre is the driving force, the holy power which unites us as a nation. Should this hideous passion of our Republic suddenly abate, the nation would simply disappear like so many handkerchiefs in a third-rate magic act.

All the heralded “revolutions” against money-thought in America have been nothing but pathetic shams. The bohemians of the ‘20’s became real-estate entrepreneurs. The Reds of the ‘30’s and ‘40’s became high-living Hollywood luminaries. The beatniks of the ‘50’s were transformed into prophetic literary lions by the liberal press. The hippies of the ‘60’s opened boutiques and developed into fashion dictators. And, of course, those two comical and entertaining Jewish guys, Rubin and Hoffman, have at last found their predestined niche in society.

And while no one can predict with precise accuracy when the terrorists of the Weather Underground will begin soliciting bids for their potentially best-selling memoirs or the rights to a block-busting motion picture, anyone conversant with the sick, sick, sick psyche of the Home of the Brave can positively predict that such an event will happen sometime, somewhere.

Nor is this illumination of our dollar-dominated lives defused by the “born again” Christian phenomenon, which is simply another puerile display of the eternal child mind-set that has for so long – oh, so long – characterized the vacuous inhabitants of the New World. That whole, preposterous movement has nothing whatsoever to do with what the Western culture has traditionally considered to be “religion.” There is more religious intensity and feeling in ten lines of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, or in ten square inches of an El Greco canvas, than there is in the bamboozled brains of ten million of those tiresome brethren with the fish emblems on their car windows. The principle thrust of all this holy posturing has been to make fat the stock portfolios and bank accounts of Jerry Falwell, Oral Roberts, and the other overstuffed, suede-shoe messiahs of the born-again bonanza.

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There is more religious intensity and feeling in ten lines of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, or in ten square inches of an El Greco canvas, than there is in the bamboozled brains of ten million of those tiresome brethren with the fish emblems on their car windows.

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The subject of money and money-making mesmerizes the American. Any new book dealing with some aspect of the topic has little difficulty advancing to the top of the best-seller lists, with only the latest diet-craze tome to offer any serious competition. Schemes to get rich in real estate, mail order, pyramid sales, and food franchises are huckstered on every street corner, through the byways of every city, town, and village, feeding the avaricious dreams of the ever-hopeful, sucking up their worn and creased dollars like a gigantic vacuum cleaner.

Hundreds of financial and economic newsletters flood the market. Many of these predict imminent economic disaster while assuring us that there are profits in doom if we but harken to the sage advice of the resident wizard, who has magnanimously condescended to share his insights with the peasants – for the proper fee, naturally. Thus, after the collapse we can all come burrowing out of our holes with a ton of freeze-dried collard greens and a sackful of Krugerrands and resume our safe, bourgeois, democratic lives, only this time much richer.

A talk-show host recently stumbled onto the topic of money and the mysteries that enshroud it. It quickly became the most popular subject ever discussed on the show, and its enchantment didn’t subside for many weeks.

The voluptuous excitement that creeps over the American when he contemplates making money, and his sacrifice of family, friends, high culture, and common manners on the altar of Mammon have made the land a happy hunting ground for the Jew. Since the Jew has for centuries practiced money-thinking and is a past master of the art of amassing wealth, he is not merely a parasite on the American body politic but also a sort of senior partner to his less experienced but equally covetous fellow citizens: actually a complement to the other denizens of the Dollarocracy.

Today’s Jew who possesses great wealth is not viewed with scorn and contempt, but with admiration and envy: a complete reversal of the attitudes of the European of but a century ago. Because of their fiscal talents they are praised, pampered, fawned over, flattered, and feted. They, along with a motley Gentile gang of international shylocks based in New York, are thus the true royalty of America, the lords and sultans of Success.

To those who would say, “It’s the same everywhere,” let it be noted that money-thought rises in direct ratio to the decline of cultural ties and of racial and tribal instincts within a given land mass. The politics of most Latin American countries is dominated by money-corruption, but it is not as pandemic in the general population as it is here. In those lands and others as well there are still strong tribal bonds and a sense that the nation is a unity. Such feelings militate against money-thought on a grand scale.

Another interesting point to note is that American foreign policy has always reflected the dominance of the Dollarocracy. Wall Street would much rather deal with Marxists than with genuine nationalists who seek a third way between communism and capitalism. The unrelenting hostility of several consecutive administrations to Colonel Khaddafi of Libya is a recent case in point. A parallel situation was that of Juan Peron of Argentina; the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency waged a relentless was against him from the beginning.

Logically, it should be in the interests of the United States to encourage in all parts of the world strong and independent nationalists who are capable of making sweeping reforms. But money has its own logic, and the fraternity of shylocks who call the tune simply cannot tolerate an honest-to-God social nationalist in any country; in his person he would pose a terrible and visible threat to their own world view. And so the nationalists are pushed into the communist camp, and the Masters of Money continue to sow seeds of their own destruction and the collapse of their system in this world.

What, ultimately, defeats money? Neither pamphlets nor polemics, but the same thing that brought it victory, the evolution of Time in History, the diminishing of its fatal fascination in the hearts and minds of those very select men and women who have been chosen by some inscrutable Providence to keep alive the sacred flames of race and culture. As money-thought is excitement and life to the American of the 20th century, it will be disgust and death to those of the 21st. Money-thought has no long future, not for America, not for Europe, not for anyone – save, perhaps, Jews and other damned and hopeless races.

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A purposeful and rich life is now possible only to those who feel and heed the call of blood, race, and culture.

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The awful crisis of our age demands the intervention of those who think and act in terms of blood, of tribal and cultural bonds. The young men and women of today who continue to act and feel in terms of money-thought are dead without knowing it. A purposeful and rich life is now possible only to those who feel and heed the call of blood, race, and culture. They, the chosen, will well comprehend the words of the poet O’Boyle: The thirsty of soul soon learn to know/The moistureless froth of the social show;/The pious sham of the pompous feast/Where the heaviest purse is the highest priest.

The “pious sham of the pompous feast” totters toward its well-deserved grave; nothing can save it. A new world is being born in the hearts of our most valuable youth, and in the hearts of those yet unborn.